


Royal Pleasures

by Quasar



Category: Royal Pains
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 04:53:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2054379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quasar/pseuds/Quasar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boris has a medical problem.  Hank has a non-medical solution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Royal Pleasures

**Author's Note:**

> Written June 2012 for "Constricted by Plot," the zine for ConStrict.

The limo purred up behind Hank as he was jogging down the long driveway from Shadow Pond. He turned, expecting to see Boris' measuring gaze, but it was the driver's window that rolled down instead, and Dieter said shortly, "He needs you."

Hank had missed his morning run and was trying to squeeze in a short one before dinner instead, but it looked like he would have to live without it today. "Take me back to the guesthouse first," he said as Dieter turned around in a space that seemed much too small for the limo. "I need my medical bag."

"It's on the seat beside you. Do you need anything else?"

Hank blinked and started checking the contents of his bag, not yet replenished after the day's work. The portable ultrasound and EKG and blood glucometer were in Divya's van, and she had gone home. "It depends on what's wrong. I'm guessing if it were a heart attack you would have called 911."

Dieter didn't answer, which probably meant that whatever was wrong was part of Boris' ongoing medical mysteries and therefore nobody really knew what it was. At least, Hank hoped the silence didn't mean that Boris would talk his servants out of calling an ambulance if he really needed one.

Dieter pulled the car around to the back of the great mansion, driving on gravel footpaths but not on the grass. That gave Hank an idea of how urgent Dieter thought the problem was, anyway. "He's on the veranda," said Dieter, bringing the limo to a stop at the foot of the steps.

Boris was seated peacefully at the table with his back to the setting sun, a half-finished meal in front of him. His silver hair and beard were neatly groomed and he seemed as imperturbable as ever, but his hands lay loosely in his lap. After a moment's puzzling, Hank realized that Boris was also leaning against the chair back instead of sitting perfectly upright as usual.

"Hey Boris, what's up?" Hank said as lightly as he could, setting his bag on an empty chair.

"I am experiencing some paralysis," said Boris in the same tones he had once used to tell Hank over the phone that he had suddenly gone blind. "My legs and feet are quite numb, and my hands..." His left hand twitched and flopped awkwardly, fell off his thigh, then lifted again. "Partially so."

As a doctor, Hank needed to disregard that formidable reserve, but he still found himself hesitating a moment before he laid hands on Boris, asking questions while he started his exam. The billionaire aristocrat described his symptoms calmly, but there was something in his eyes that reminded Hank of a lost boy. He'd seen it before during that episode of blindness on the pier in New York, or in the hospital in Cuba just before Boris nearly died. It was the look in his eyes more than anything else that had warned Hank he was in trouble then, and now it was back.

"Can you smile for me?"

Boris looked at Hank for a moment, then produced a smile startling in its genuine sweetness - and perfectly symmetrical. Hank caught his breath and smiled back reflexively.

"I don't think it's a stroke," he concluded. "Your facial muscles are fine, and the weakness is worse in your left shoulder but your right hand. Since it's not just one side of your body the cause isn't in your brain - it must be something affecting your muscles or nerves, especially in the extremities."

"So it is my... condition."

There was no name, or none shorter than a full sentence, for the problem that had plagued the men of Boris' family and was expected to kill him one day.

But Hank shook his head. "Your symptoms fit with the overall syndrome, but it shouldn't come on so quickly and completely. Something else must be triggering it. If we can find the trigger and eliminate it, the symptoms will improve." He considered. "Your blood pressure is high - not immediately dangerous, but it is a concern. I know you have no history of hypertension. When was the last time it was checked?"

"Marisa checked last week, just before I flew back from Cuba. It was fine." Boris' eyes darkened and he glanced away.

"You're worried about her." Hank knew Boris had wanted his lover to leave Cuba, but she insisted she would be safe and she must keep working on her research.

"We have no news, good or bad."

Hank set aside any concern for Marisa and returned to the mystery at hand, surveying the remains of Boris' dinner. "Have you eaten anything strange in the last few days? Any headaches or tingling in your fingers, any other symptoms you haven't mentioned?"

Boris hesitated and shifted his shoulders oddly, catching Hank's attention. Was he embarrassed about something? Belatedly, Hank realized that the aristocrat's hands were weakly clutching at a napkin in his lap.

"Boris. How long have you had an erection?"

The grey eyes flashed sharply for a moment, but Boris didn't need to be told that the question was important. "No more than half an hour." His jaw tightened a little. "This time."

"Have you been getting a lot of them?"

"A few each day. More today than when I first returned. I assumed it was because my... amorous activities had stopped so suddenly."

"I'm going to need to check more closely - in private." Hank looked around and found Dieter waiting expressionlessly by the edge of the veranda with a wheelchair. 

The big man helped Hank maneuver his employer into the chair as smoothly as an experienced nurse, then pushed it to a convenient bedroom on the first floor while Hank followed behind with his bag. Dieter took care of transferring Boris to the bed, showed Hank an intercom to use if anything else was needed, then stepped outside and closed the door.

Even though Hank knew Boris was a tall man, he looked strangely small and vulnerable in the huge bed, just as he had in the Cuban hospital. Hank told himself the surge of protectiveness was just what he felt for any friend and patient, and started unbuttoning Boris' shirt.

Boris tried to help, but his right hand barely moved and the left was too clumsy. Hank caught the hand between his and gave a reassuring squeeze. "I got this. I'm just going to recheck your abdomen real quick." He felt carefully for any enlarged organs, but he wasn't surprised to find nothing abnormal. He had really just wanted to relax Boris before the next step.

Usually, when Hank wanted to get clothes off a motionless person, he used scissors, but he did get enough practice with the regular method to make it look easy. He got Boris' shoes off and the expensive-looking pants and silk underwear down to his knees. Boris' erection looked normal enough, red and eager rather than purple from restricted blood flow.

"Have you been unusually sensitive?" Hank asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep his touch impersonal as he gauged the level of engorgement.

"Yes, a little." Boris' voice was higher than normal, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

"Have you had any orgasms since you returned from Cuba?"

Boris frowned a little at this. "Only in my sleep," he admitted.

"Every night?"

"Most nights."

"Last night?"

"I don't think so. I was working until late and got very little sleep."

Hank let out his breath carefully and straightened, pulling the corner of the coverlet over Boris for privacy and warmth. "I think I know what's wrong," he said. "There are a couple of different approaches we can take, for now. A long-term treatment will depend on whether this keeps recurring."

Boris watched him suspiciously. "I trust you are referring to the problem of the paralysis and not to my libido?"

"I'm pretty sure they're connected. I think you have an excess of dopamine in your system right now. It can cause high blood pressure and frequent unwanted erections."

"And paralysis?"

Hank grimaced. "Not normally. But dopamine imbalances are associated with a variety of motor problems, including Parkinson's disease."

"And also depression, addiction, and risk-taking, is that not so? I have none of those problems."

"Those come with low dopamine levels; I think yours are high. Now, we can do a blood test to confirm this, but the results will take a while. Or we can do a simple experiment to find out if the problem is related to dopamine, and also whether that's causing the paralysis."

"An experiment. You have some drugs with you which lower dopamine levels?"

"No. Or, well, yes, thorazine or haldol can do that, but the dose you would need is dangerous. But your own body can produce prolactin, which will reduce dopamine quickly and safely."

Boris' gaze was level. "And how do we persuade my body to produce this prolactin?"

Hank took a deep breath. "Sexual satisfaction is the most effective way."

Boris was silent, his eyes never leaving Hank's.

"Your body is saying pretty clearly that's what you need," Hank pointed out.

"But I am not in a position to take care of the problem myself." Boris' left hand shifted restlessly in demonstration.

"Uh, no, you would need someone to help."

"I asked Marisa to marry me. I will not betray her."

"I don't think she would consider it betrayal, under the circumstances." Hank shifted and cleared his throat uneasily. "If there is anyone in the area you would care to... I mean, maybe Dieter can find someone..." He was just digging himself in deeper.

Boris turned his eyes back to the ceiling. "There is no one nearby with whom I've had previous relations, and I don't patronize professionals. Perhaps drugs would be better."

Hank swallowed. "Or I could help out. If you like."

Boris looked at him again, long and intensely. "Would you like that?"

"I... uh..." The tips of Hank's ears were burning hot.

"I would require something more personal than a doctor-patient relationship."

"I could do that."

Something softened in Boris' sharp expression. "Have you been with a man before, Hank?"

"Yes. Look, this doesn't have to be complicated -"

"Come here." Boris lifted his spasming hand toward Hank, who took it firmly. "I would very much prefer for the pleasure to be mutual."

"No, you don't have to worry about that."

"I cannot do anything about it, at present. But at the least I must know that there is a mutual interest."

Hank remembered the first moment he had seen Boris, when he had stepped into the room at the party and taken control of the crisis with a few soft words. Since that first night there had been a spark of attraction between the two of them, but it was always lost in the medical and professional aspects of their relationship. "As an emergency room doctor, I never really got to know my patients," Hank said slowly. "Then I came here to the Hamptons and I learned what it's like to treat people regularly, people who are my friends. It's different. But you've always been the most different. The most... special."

Boris nodded slowly, his lip curving upward. Then he purred in his cultured baritone, "Take off your clothes and join me on the bed."

It was awkward, at first, as always with a new lover, even when one of them isn't half paralyzed. But finally Hank got them both naked and comfortably situated next to each other, with his own genuine interest clearly displayed. He ran a hand over Boris' chest, admiring the musculature that came from a varied regimen of tennis, swimming, fencing, and intimidating other people's lawyers.

"I'm already quite aroused," Boris murmured. "There's no need for foreplay."

"The longer the wait, the greater the satisfaction," said Hank, but he moved his hand lower obediently.

Boris sighed and arched a little toward the touch. "In that case, this should be very satisfying indeed. We've been waiting nearly two years."

So, Boris had felt that pull from the first, as well. Perhaps that explained why he'd been so quick to trust Hank with his medical concerns. Quick for Boris, at least.

Hank tickled the soft skin at the join of hip and thigh, cupped the balls that were already pulled up tightly, then finally moved his hand to the hot, eager shaft. As he started up a lazy rhythm, he lowered his head to one brown nipple and squeezed it gently between his teeth before licking and then nipping a little harder. He glanced up for Boris' reaction and was surprised to find him craning down for a kiss. His lips tasted like an expensive champagne, with a side of prickling beard. At least he wouldn't object to Hank's five o'clock shadow.

"How would you like it?" Hank breathed against Boris' lips, adding a twist to his easy strokes.

Boris gave him a nip. "I want your mouth."

Hank gulped; he hadn't been expecting that. And this was hardly the time to admit that his previous experience with men hadn't been entirely pleasant. But at least he wouldn't have to worry about Boris grabbing his head or pulling his hair. He sat up. 

Boris' erection was a darker red now, straining toward the ceiling, and it looked a lot bigger from this angle. Cautiously Hank licked a line up along the shaft, drawing a groan from Boris. So he took it into his mouth and pulsed his tongue against the head, his own cock twitching as he recalled what this felt like. He sucked deep and then teased the head again, alternating back and forth until Boris was panting through clenched teeth. Then Hank went as deep as he could for as long as his breath held out, came up for air, went down again like a diver seeking treasure. Finally his jaw began to ache and he had to pull free, but he jacked the slick shaft quickly and brought his other hand to cup Boris' balls firmly, vibrating the grip in time with his strokes.

Boris cried out and his legs jerked open as white fluid spurted forth, again and again. Hank counted seven long spasms before Boris fell back against the pillows, breathing deeply. He lay down again next to the man, threw an arm across his chest, and waited.

Boris opened his eyes and blinked.

"How do you feel?"

There was that smile again, impossibly sunny and innocent from a man who exuded an air of power and danger with every gesture. "Indebted. Thank you, Hank."

Hank dared to give him a smack on the arm. "I mean your legs, your hands. Any change?"

Boris lifted his left hand, easily and steadily, then closed the fingers. It wasn't a fully clenched fist, but it was more than he was able to do an hour earlier. He moved the fingers one at a time, cautiously, then tried the same with his right hand.

"That's good! Really good," said Hank. "How about your legs and feet?"

Boris moved his legs cautiously. The ankles flexed, but not the toes. "I'm getting some pins and needles," he said with a grimace.

"So it isn't a full fix, but that's a lot of progress. More importantly, it shows the hypothesis is correct - your problem is dopamine. If it wasn't directly causing the muscular weakness, it was still involved somehow."

"Hank."

"I should check your blood pressure. We'll need to do some blood tests, figure out exactly where the excess dopamine is coming from..." 

"Hank."

"Is your body producing too much of it, or just not making use of what's there, or some combination?"

"Dr. Lawson!"

"Hmm?" Hank was startled to realize he was sitting naked in Boris' fifty-ninth spare bed and hypothesizing arcane medical minutiae.

"I am not fully cured of the paralysis yet. Nor fully satisfied." Boris gestured to the renewed signs of interest at his groin. "Also, I am accustomed to paying my debts. Promptly." He stroked along Hank's hip.

Hank blinked. "Well, I -"

"Shall we make this arrangement more mutual?" Boris sat up.

"That isn't necessary - oh!" Hank gasped as Boris' warm hand found his cock. Boris' fingers might not be as clever as usual, but he still had that unassailable certainty that made his every move seem important.

"Lie down for me, Hank." Those sharp grey eyes seemed to bore right into Hank, seeing all his uncertainties and weaknesses.

"I don't know if I want to, uh..." Hank found himself lying back without consciously willing it.

"Tell me if you do not like something, and I will stop it." Boris leaned down over Hank's hip to return the favor.

Hank gasped and couldn't resist lunging upward when he was sucked in, but he clenched his fists in the sheets to keep from grabbing. Boris was a lot better at this than he would have guessed, his lips and tongue creating a clever diversion, but at the same time his hand was fumbling back and down, behind Hank's balls, between his cheeks.

"Okay, hang on!" Hank sat up and scooted back. Boris kept a hand on his leg but didn't try to hold on as Hank pulled away until the hand was resting on his knee instead. "I'm not sure I'm up for, uh, that."

"If you are uncomfortable, we can do something else. But my impaired dexterity does reduce the options somewhat. Would you prefer to be on top?"

Hank gaped. The billionaire duke, lord of all he surveyed, with a pedigree that went back before Columbus, could not possibly be saying he would be willing to be fucked. Could he?

"I believe there is one of those charming sports metaphors for it. Would you like to... catch, or pitch?"

"I haven't done that before," Hank admitted. "Either way."

"Ah. You did not trust your previous partners. I assure you, you can trust me, even though I'm not at my best."

"I do trust you." Hank was tempted by the vision of taking possession of a man so self-possessed. But he also wanted to know how it felt to have such confidence, to be willing to give away power in the certainty that it would be returned. And being on top would probably be better for Boris, anyway. "We can give it a try. With me catching, I mean. But, uh, slowly. I have some medical lubricant in my bag." He also had plenty of condoms for any of his patients who might need them - especially the teenagers.

Boris reached for the drawer of the bedside stand. "All bedrooms in my houses are fully supplied," he said, producing an elegant-looking bottle and some packets of a brand Hank had never even heard of. It would probably feel even better than nothing, he suspected.

"This will be easiest if you lie on your side facing away," said Boris as he set the supplies within easy reach.

Hank shook his head; it was too much like a rectal exam. "I'd prefer face to face."

"Very well." Boris traced lines of fire down Hank's chest until he was squirming and his erection was back to full strength again. Then he drizzled lubricant on his fingers until they shimmered and began to tease again at Hank's opening. As a doctor, Hank knew the area was sensitive; he could even chart how the nerves branched and multiplied. But he had never experienced it in quite this way before, as if those nerves were being reprogrammed for a whole new set of sensations.

"My fingers are too weak to push; you must let me in, Hank."

It took a moment to work with muscles he normally paid no attention to, but Hank pushed back and felt the fingers slip inside to discover new sensitive areas within.

Boris began to speak, his voice serving as an anchor to keep Hank focused on the here and now. "You know, of course, that it was your quick thinking, your original approach to problems, and your discretion that impressed me as a doctor. But I was also intrigued by your more personal qualities, how you deal with everyone around you, and your physical character as well."

Hank made a face, pushing back again as the fingers twisted inside him. "My body is crazy - I have the torso of someone over six feet tall, and legs belonging to someone much shorter."

"Yet you make them work together as a graceful whole. Despite short legs, you run races. I have always been more interested in what people do with what they are given than in the gifts themselves."

It was an interesting philosophy coming from a man born with a golden spoon. But Boris wielded his power very skillfully - the political, the financial, and apparently the sexual power as well. Hank gasped as Boris' fingers found something inside him that didn't seem at all like the target of a prostate exam.

"You're not afraid," Hank said, and Boris raised an eyebrow at him. "That's what drew me in, I guess. In emergency I dealt with people who were panicking, or people who were numb from shock. Even in general practice, everyone fears age, illness, disability. But not you."

"You know that isn't true, Hank." Boris pulled his hand free and fumbled with the packet until Hank took it from him and rolled the condom on. Boris was every bit as hard and eager as he had been earlier.

"You don't let the fear show." But Hank could see it anyway. "You don't let it control you."

"Are you afraid?" Boris pressed Hank's knees apart and moved between them.

Hank met that penetrating gaze and shook his head. "I trust you."

It was difficult at first, the muscles burning as they stretched. But then they settled, and accommodated, and Hank was filled. Boris moved, and all those branched nerves came tingling to glorious life, and Hank rolled his head back on the pillow as he lost himself to sensation. 

It didn't take long by the clock, but it seemed an eternity that Boris stroked through and into and above and against. When his breath quickened he said, "Touch yourself, Hank. I am not strong enough," and he watched while Hank took hold of his own cock and rubbed in all the right places until he stopped because he didn't need to rub anymore, what was happening inside him was enough. Bursts of fireworks exploded behind his retinas and he didn't even wonder how, he just enjoyed it. Then Boris clutched him close and moaned through his own inner fireworks, and they lay together a minute in sweaty bliss.

"Better?" asked Hank, when they had caught their breath.

Boris lifted up and pulled free with a grimace, flopping over to the side. He glanced downward. "I appear to be satisfied," he said. "And my toes are no longer tingling."

Hank sat up and held out the first two fingers of both hands. "Squeeze," he demanded.

Boris gave him a dark look but gripped the fingers with strong, symmetrical grasps.

"I think you're better," Hank concluded.

"If only all medicine could be as enjoyable."

Hank groaned. "I don't think I would survive it."

Boris smiled a little ruefully. "Mutual enjoyment aside, I am still very much in your debt, Hank."

"No, you're not," said Hank soberly. "I came here as your doctor, but I got in this bed as your friend. Friendship doesn't accrue debts."

"This cannot happen again, Hank. I made a promise to Marisa. One time, she will understand, but not more."

Hank nodded. "We'll figure out what's going on with your dopamine levels and the best way to control it. In the meantime, if you get an erection, satisfy it! Pay attention to what your body needs."

"I will do that." Boris waved to a door in the corner. "Since you have been such a good friend, you may use the bathroom first."

Hank washed up quickly, then came back to the bedroom and got dressed while Boris took his turn. When he came out, Boris was also dressed and ready for a followup exam. Hank confirmed that his blood pressure was back down in the normal range and took a few vials of blood for future tests. When he was done, he gave Boris a pat on the shoulder, noticing that the barrier of reserve was gone between them.

Boris stood up and gripped Hank's shoulders in turn, then pulled him in for a scorching champagne kiss. Then he set him back a foot. "Thank you, Dr. Lawson." He inclined his head neatly, and by some trick of body language the barrier went back up again in an instant.

It was full dark when Hank got back to the guesthouse. His brother Evan looked up from raiding the refrigerator. "Hey, how was your run? Looks like you got quite a workout."

"Yeah." Hank ran a hand through his hair. "I guess I did."


End file.
